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But we do hope to find out all your tricks,
When they shall read this clearly in your charge:
TO MR. H. LAWES, ON HIS AIRS.
HARRY, whose tuneful and well-measured song
That with smooth air couldst humour best our
Thou honour'st Verse, and Verse must lend her wing
ON THE RELIGIOUS MEMORY OF MRS. CATHERINE THOMSON, MY CHRISTIAN FRIEND, DECEASED DEC. 16, 1646.
WHEN Faith and Love, which parted from thee never, Had ripened thy just soul to dwell with God, Meekly thou didst resign this earthy load
Of death, called life, which us from life doth sever.
Thy works, and alms, and all thy good endeavour,
ON THE LORD GENERAL FAIRFAX, AT THE
FAIRFAX, whose name in arms through Europe rings,
Victory home, though new rebellions raise
Their Hydra heads, and the false North displays
O yet a nobler task awaits thy hand
(For what can war but endless war still breed?) Till truth and right from violence be freed, And public faith cleared from the shameful brand Of public fraud. In vain doth Valour bleed, While Avarice and Rapine share the land.
TO THE LORD GENERAL CROMWELL, MAY 1652,
ON THE PROPOSALS OF CERTAIN MINISTERS AT THE COM. MITTEE FOR PROPAGATION OF THE GOSPEL.
CROMWELL, our chief of men, who through a cloud Not of war only, but detractions rude,
Guided by faith and matchless fortitude,
To peace and truth thy glorious way hast ploughed, And on the neck of crowned Fortune proud
Hast reared God's trophies, and his work pursued, While Darwen stream, with blood of Scots imbrued, And Dunbar field, resounds thy praises loud, And Worcester's laureate wreath: yet much remains To conquer still; Peace hath her victories
No less renowned than War: new foes arise, Threatening to bind our souls with secular chains. Help us to save free conscience from the paw Of hireling wolves, whose Gospel is their maw.
TO SIR HENRY VANE THE YOUNGER.
VANE, young in years, but in sage counsel old,
The drift of hollow states hard to be spelled;
In all her equipage; besides, to know
Both spiritual power and civil, what each means, What severs each, thou hast learned, which few have done.
The bounds of either sword to thee we owe :
Therefore on thy firm hand Religion leans
ON THE LATE MASSACRE IN PIEDMONT.
AVENGE, O Lord, thy slaughtered saints, whose bones Lie scattered on the Alpine mountains cold;
Even them who kept thy truth so pure of old, When all our fathers worshiped stocks and stones, Forget not in thy book record their groans
Who were thy sheep, and in their ancient fold Slain by the bloody Piemontese, that rolled Mother with infant down the rocks. Their moans The vales redoubled to the hills, and they
To heaven. Their martyred blood and ashes sow O'er all the Italian fields, where still doth sway The triple Tyrant; that from these may grow A hundredfold, who, having learnt thy way, Early may fly the Babylonian woe.
[ON HIS BLINDNESS.]
WHEN I consider how my light is spent
Ere half my days in this dark world and wide, And that one talent which is death to hide Lodged with me useless, though my soul more bent To serve therewith my Maker, and present
My true account, lest He returning chide, "Doth God exact day-labour, light denied?” I fondly ask. But Patience, to prevent That murmur, soon replies, "God doth not need Either man's work or his own gifts. Who best
Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best. His state
Is kingly thousands at his bidding speed,
And post o'er land and ocean without rest;
[TO MR. LAWRENCE.]
LAWRENCE, of virtuous father virtuous son,
Now that the fields are dank, and ways are mire,
Where shall we sometimes meet, and by the fire
From the hard season gaining?
On smoother, till Favonius reinspire
The frozen earth, and clothe in fresh attire The lily and rose, that neither sowed nor spun. What neat repast shall feast us, light and choice,
Of Attic taste, with wine, whence we may rise To hear the lute well touched, or artful voice Warble immortal notes and Tuscan air?
He who of those delights can judge, and spare
[TO CYRIACK SKINNER.]
CYRIACK, whose grandsire on the royal bench
Toward solid good what leads the nearest way; For other things mild Heaven a time ordains, And disapproves that care, though wise in show,
That with superfluous burden loads the day,
[TO THE SAME.]
CYRIACK, this three years' day these eyes, though clear To outward view, of blemish or of spot,